


chemicals collide

by nbmothman



Series: the only true messiah rescues us from ourselves [8]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Breathplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Withdrawal, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbmothman/pseuds/nbmothman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of chemicals Pete's familiar with: THC, morphine, nicotine, benzoyl-methyl-ecgonine, MDMA, the list goes on and on. But there's one chemical combination that he tries to stay away from. A mix of dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin that people call love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chemicals collide

**Author's Note:**

> finally got this finished and i can say i'm pretty proud of it. i hope the length makes up for the amount of time i made you guys wait!  
> also: everyone needs to listen to chemicals collide by boys like girls. it's basically this whole fic in a nutshell.

_i got a couple addictions_

_but swear that i'm comin' clean_

_i got a new way of thinking_

_yeah you're bringing out the best in me_

-o-

Pete was happy for the first time in a long time.

He felt like a giant weight had lifted off of his shoulders and he could feel himself breathing easier ever  
since he admitted to Patrick and Andy that he wanted out of Arma. He and Patrick had been texting back and forth almost regularly now, and the mere thought that Patrick _enjoyed talking to him_ made his stupid heart flutter and a smile sneak its way onto his face. He felt like a stupid kindergartner with a crush and it left him absolutely _giddy_. 

It was gross. He felt like this was his first real friendship-relationship-Idon’tevenfuckingknowbutIloveit relationship. Patrick made him _happy_. With his snapchats of the cute dogs he saw on the way to work and the demo tapes he and Joe were working on. Joe was constantly either in the background or the subject of Patrick’s snapchats, always singing or interrupting Patrick trying to talk to Pete. Pete quickly learned that Joe was the photobomb king, and it was fucking hilarious. He was so glad that Joe liked him, or at least appeared to, despite Pete’s reputation. 

When the pictures didn’t involve Joe, they were of Patrick asking what scarf looked better with this or him bitching about the weather or ‘hey i know this is dumb but this shirt reminded of you’ quickly followed by ‘i didn’t buy it though, but like, if you want me to i can’.

A lot of Pete’s responses were simply just: ‘ur adorable’ with a big smile attached. It was never intended that half of Pete’s snapchats were shirtless. He just, didn’t wear shirts. That’s what he told Patrick, at least. Patrick just shook his head and laughed at him, his hair sweaty from a show with his pajama pants and his dumb Bowie shirt on. 

Pete’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much over the past week.

He wouldn’t tell Patrick that, though, he didn’t think he’d drop that bombshell for a while. Though Patrick served as a more than wonderful distraction, the feeling of anticipation was still there, bubbling in his chest. Pete still obsessed over the thought of how Josh and Keith would react. He never even thought of telling them until he absolutely had to because he knew they would be pissed. 

They needed jobs too. They’d all be fucked without the band, that’s all they’d ever known, and Pete shook with the anticipation whenever he thought about what they’d do to him once the shit hit the fan. Josh kept texting and trying to call him, basically mocking Pete, if he was honest. Josh always poked at him until he snapped and fights, as they always did, would break out. With Josh it was mostly screaming matches, he wasn’t much for fighting, but if they did he and Pete were pretty evenly matched. Keith tried to get ahold of him too, emailing him and trying sounding all professional about the tour, when they’d leave and bus arrangements and all the tour locations and dates. He must have forgotten he was the reason Pete had to get stitches last tour.

Keith had anger problems when he was drunk. Fuck, he had anger problems _period_. It didn’t help that Josh was always on the sidelines howling with laughter and egging them on. It always happened when Andy was away, when Pete was really vulnerable. Andy never let them forget that he didn’t drink, so whenever he was practicing or taking a nap or setting up for the show, they would always sneak out to the nearest bar or strip club they could find. They would get smashed, kicked out, and would take out their frustrations on each other; mainly Pete. Pete wasn’t always innocent though, far from it. He threw his fair share of punches, but Keith was taller and even though he wasn’t all that much heavier, he had a lot of pent up frustration. But they all did, that was just the way they happened to deal with it.

Pete was proud to say that a certain bite-mark scar that Keith had on his shoulder was from him and every time he saw it peek through Keith’s shirts he smiled. That’s a part of tour he would miss, but not one he should. Fighting gave Pete energy and made him feel _alive_. To fight for his fucking life and not know if he would make it out in one piece, the adrenaline was just as much a drug as anything else was.

Pete knew to Patrick and Andy he sounded like he was the one getting railed on all the time, but he had to be honest in the fact that he was definitely asking for it. He would get so high he wouldn’t remember anything except that his eye was swollen and his knuckles ached. Memories of getting off the bus late at night to wander, trying to find the people stumbling out of bars at two ‘o clock in the morning and trying to pick a fight or try to pick them up. 

He couldn’t help it; he rarely slept like a normal human being and he needed something to do. Coke would help for a while but then he was so riled up he had to do something, _anything_ that wasn’t staying cramped up in the bus for five more hours. Most people recognized him and either loved him or loathed him, and he took advantage of both. 

Which, now that he thought about it, was really shitty. Pete felt shitty about everything that happened in Arma now that he was trying to get his head straight. He’d thought about it for a long time and he’d discovered a lot of shit that he couldn't remember and couldn't believe actually happened.

Pete never put two and two together half of the time because he was so goddamn high on tour, but after the haze faded he knew all he was Keith was a punching bag and source of entertainment for Josh. Andy always tried to tell him that, but Pete needed cocaine and sex and excitement and if he wasn’t making money or touring that wouldn’t be an option anymore. That _had_ to be an option.

But he was quitting the band, and that meant no more _anything_.

Pete tried to take that in stride. He hadn’t had coke in what seemed like forever, but had only been about a week or so. He tried to keep himself sedated with what pot he had left and Andy would visit him every Friday or Saturday to just hang out, play Mario Kart and cook dinner with each other. Pete doesn’t know what he’d do without Andy. He was _literally_ his mom at this point, and he was thankful for every minute, even if vegan food tasted kind of shitty sometimes.

But today was a Monday, and Andy wasn’t there.

Pete hadn’t moved since Saturday afternoon. The shakes and cold sweats and migraines were so intense he could feel his fucking bones weighing down inside him like a log in the water. His stomach ached but his head was louder, the tremors in his brain counteracting the growls of his stomach. He heard the pings from his phone saying he had notifications, but he couldn’t move. Pete was so cold he couldn’t untangle himself from his comforter or else he was sure he’d get frostbite. Goosebumps were strewn across his skin and he swore to god there was a thin layer of frost surrounding him.

Pete would doze off occasionally for an hour or two only to be awoken by convulsions, sweat damp against his sheets and body to only to feel it freeze against his skin a few minutes later. This feeling was fucking awful and it was only made worse by the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it. His body was _worthless_ and _weak_ and he was going to die trapped inside of it.

Dying didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He felt like he was imprisoned in his brain with no energy, no feeling, no nothing. If he was dead Keith and Josh would be gone, Arma would be gone, and all that anxiety and stress and mania would disappear and he could finally be alone. Maybe when he died it would be warm, maybe heaven would have cocaine there. If not, hell sure as fuck would. 

But Andy wouldn’t be there, Patrick wouldn’t be there. Patrick and Andy would be left behind and they’d be really sad. At least Pete hoped they would be.

It wasn’t until a few hours later when the sun started to set before Pete heard a knock at the door. He really didn’t want to get up, he couldn’t. The noise shook inside his head and scratched behind his eyes, Pete had to bite his tongue to try and keep composed. There was a pause before the doorbell rang, once, twice, and _again_. Pete didn’t know who it could be, because Andy knew where the spare key was and the combination to get into the back door if he needed to. Whoever it was needed to shut the fuck up and _go away_.

His phone rang.

Pete figured that was the person knocking, and they didn’t seem like they were going to give up easily. Pete gathered the strength to pull his hand out of the comforter and grasp his phone before it had the chance to get frostbite and fall off.

He swiped the phone with his thumb and let it fall on the bed without a second glance before tucking his arm between his legs in an attempt to reheat it. Pete’s legs and hips started to shake around his arm, and it took him a second to hear what the person on the phone was saying.

“-me? C’mon Pete, I’m freaking out here. I know you’re there.”

It was Patrick.

Pete wanted to be happy, he really did, but his brain was so tired and his head ached from the noise, but he cleared his throat and licked his lips anyway.

“Hey,” He let himself smile a little and let his eyes droop. He was getting tired again. He couldn’t believe it, just picking up the phone made him so tired. He felt like death and he just wanted to stop existing, he didn’t want to be so drained and worthless and weak anymore.

“Jesus fucking Christ, thank you _god_. Are you okay? I’ve been freaking the fuck out, dude. I texted and snapchatted and called you like five hundred times. I couldn’t sleep last night so I just, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I mean, like, I don’t want to intrude or anything, but, like, I don’t know, it’s just-”

“Patrick,” Pete groaned and rubbed his drowsy eyes. “You’re rambling.”

“Well fuck,” Pete could hear Patrick rustling around, throwing his hands up in exasperation, Pete guessed. “Excuse me for giving a shit. I’m like, really fucking worried about you and I’ve been freaking out since you stopped answering my texts and shit, so come let me in so I know you’re not strung out or dead, okay?”

“Key is in the mailbox. There’s a false bottom.” The corners of Pete’s mouth turned up as he tried to rearrange the pillows against his shoulder to prop himself up.

“Thank you.”

The noise of the door opening outshined the slam of it afterwards, followed by quick footsteps on the hardwood floors before they ceased abruptly.

“Where the fuck are you?”

Pete wouldn’t lie, he had a big house, but it was just too funny that Patrick was lost so quickly.

“Up here.” Pete called, his voice quiet and raw, making him cough and heave before Patrick appeared in the doorway.

“Uh, hey.” Patrick smiled and observed Pete’s rumpled frame. He was wrapped in his comforter, just his sunken eyes and hair peeking out. Pete raised his eyebrows and tried to smile.

“Hey.” He murmured, pulling the covers down to his chin and looking up at Patrick.

“Dude,” Patrick sighed, walking around the bed to gently sit next to Pete, his deep brown eyes tried and dim. “You look awful.”

Pete’s eyes narrowed and he scrunched up his nose. “You stink like pot.” He moaned and covered his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, taking deep breaths.

Patrick cocked a brow and put his nose up against the sleeve of his denim jacket. He’d been trying to cut down on how much he smoked for his voice’s sake. Now that he and Joe were trying to get serious about this whole ‘band’ thing he figured it would be for the best. Almost all his clothes still stank, no thanks to Joe, but no one really noticed, so Patrick hadn’t been too worried about it until now.

“Sorry.” Patrick shrugged the jacket off and threw it on Pete’s dirty floor. He hoped he’d be able to find it later because Pete’s room was a mess.

Patrick sat back against the edge of Pete’s bed, taking a quick look around the room. Dirty clothes were strewn across the floor along with notebooks, three or four empty condom wrappers, a black and red bass set up on a stand, and an empty bottle of vodka tucked under what looked like a work desk. The desk had papers strewn over it, crumpled and dotted with ink. From the angle Patrick was in he could also see an ash tray and a laptop.

“How long have you been here?” Patrick asked, placing a tentative hand on Pete’s shoulder.

Pete pulled his sleeve away from his chapped lips and pressed his tongue against them.

“Saturday.” He tried to smile but Patrick could see the tiredness in his eyes, sinking into his skull in sharp contrast to his tanned skin.

“Jesus Christ, you’re probably starving.” Patrick said absently, getting up from the bed to stand up. He pivoted towards the door.

“You have food and stuff, right?” Patrick’s eyes were wide and he chewed at his bottom lip. Pete tried to smile again.

“’Course.” Pete’s teeth chattered and he curled his legs tighter together, searching for warmth in the friction.

“I’ll get a blanket too. You have a coffee maker?” Patrick wrung his hands together, eyes locked on Pete.  
Pete nodded and Patrick dashed out of the room, almost slipping on the wood floors. Pete felt his chest grow a little warmer. It was comforting having here to hear him rummaging through the kitchen, talking to himself and cursing at whatever was giving him trouble.

Patrick returned sometime later with pink cheeks, a plate of toast, and coffee. He had one of Pete’s blankets from his couch thrown over his shoulders, skewing his glasses and his hat just the tiniest bit. He set the plate and cup on Pete’s bedside table before tossing the blanket over Pete. He tucked it under Pete’s feet and legs before sitting down next to him.

“I’m gonna sit you up, okay?” Talking seemed almost useless at this point, but Patrick still felt that it was obligatory. _Consent and all that stuff,_ Patrick thought. With a hand on Pete’s back and the other around his shoulders, he carefully pulled Pete into a sitting position, not easily either, that fucker was heavy, and wrapped the blanket around his waist and torso. Pete’s hands gripped at his biceps, teeth still clacking together.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Patrick breathed, pressing the cup of coffee into Pete’s shaking hands. “Drink some of this, please?”

The cup felt hard and heavy in Pete’s palm but he pressed the warmth against his lips, just letting the heat and steam radiate against the skin of his hands and face for a moment. He took a deep breath and let his eyes fall shut before taking a careful sip.

Patrick pressed his palm against Pete’s back, rubbing tiny circles for comfort and friction. After a while of Pete taking slow and wary sips from his coffee Patrick let his hand wander up into Pete’s hair to stroke through, trying to be reassuring. They were friends; he could do that, right? Playing with your friend’s hair wasn’t weird; Patrick had seen girls do it in high school all the time. Well, he wasn’t a girl, but fuck that. Gender equality, feminism, yeah.

Patrick’s fingernails raked through the hair on the back of Pete’s head, thumb brushing against the nape of his neck from time to time. Once Pete finished with his coffee Patrick tugged it out of his hands and set it back on the table, motioning to grab the plate of toast before he felt Pete slump against his shoulder.

“I’m so tired, ‘Trick.” 

Pete sounded _wrecked_. The voice coming from his mouth was foreign, Patrick had never even imagined Pete’s voice could sound like that. Pete tucked his forehead against Patrick’s neck. Patrick frowned and rubbed against the side of Pete’s head, pulling Pete’s head under his jaw.

“You must be really sick.”

Pete shook his head against Patrick’s throat.

“’m tryin’ to quit.”

Patrick pulled back a little in disbelief. “Like, what? Quit coke, quit the band, everything?”

“Coke.” Pete’s voice trembled. “Everything.”

“Hey, that’s good for you! I’m proud of you, man, really.” Patrick rubbed Pete’s shoulder, pressing him tighter against himself.

“But I want it _so bad_.” Pete’s hands found the strength to clench Patrick’s t-shirt and burrowed his head against Patrick’s neck, swallowing back a sharp huff of air.

“Hey, hey, you’re gonna be fine. I can stay with you, if you want me to?” Patrick offered, rubbing his hand down Pete’s back. “I mean, I’ll have to call in to work, but I’m sure my boss won’t mind, really, and I’ll have to call Joe just to tell him where I am, but it’ll be fine, dude, I swear, I can help you.”

Patrick kissed Pete’s forehead before he knew what he was doing. 

It was kind of second nature to him, if he was honest. Joe did it all the time when Patrick was feeling down, he didn’t know why, but it was comforting. He and Joe were just really chill with each other. They were almost brothers, and no ‘no homo’s were necessary at this point, even though Joe always loved to joke about it.

Pete didn’t seem to care.

He leaned against Patrick like he was his only lifeline, and at this point he was. He didn’t want to bother Andy, he’d already done so much for him. Pete had wasted so much of Andy’s time and he felt awful. But Patrick was here and Patrick cared and could hold him and comfort him, willingly. Pete still couldn’t understand why, Patrick should hate him, Pete was a burden and was dead weight and Pete wanted to die. Pete snorted coke and fucked people he didn’t know and cried too much and got drunk all the time and made bad decisions and hurt people for no reason. Pete could never take care of himself. He always needed to cling on someone, to bring them down. He didn’t know if he had real friends anymore, just people he made take care of him.

“You don’t have to.”

“C’mon dude, don’t pull that shit. I want to.”

Patrick pulled Pete up so they were shoulder to shoulder and let their temples settle against each other.

“You might be a jackass, but you’re my friend.” Their eyes met and Pete offered a tentative smile before Patrick felt like his glasses weren’t sitting exactly right on his nose.

“You’ll be fine, I promise. Joe makes fun of me ‘cause I get overprotective sometimes, like whenever he’s sick I get all worried and stuff. So I really don’t mind. It’s like, a maternal thing, I think.”

“Paternal.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a dude. Paternal, not maternal.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow and smiled. “For someone who feels like dying, you’re awfully particular about the use of gendered speech.”

-o-

That set the mood for the rest of the week.

Patrick tried to take care of Pete to the best of his ability, which turned into a Harry Potter marathon, a Lord of The Rings marathon, pancakes, and a lot of unintended awkwardness. The first day or two Pete needed a lot of help moving around, he was so drained of energy he could barely walk by himself, and getting him in and helping out of the shower was just a tad uncomfortable. Half because, Pete was Patrick’s friend and seeing your friend, the really hot celebrity you made out with not too long ago, naked was weird. Also because Pete was hot _as fuck_.

Patrick felt bad, it felt like he was taking advantage of Pete, but he tried to keep his mind busy with other things. Things like not popping a boner every time Pete jokingly manhandled him and played with him, blowing raspberries on his neck when he wasn’t looking or grabbing his ass. Once Pete had gotten his bearings again, he was like a little kid. He would do and say the funniest and weirdest shit to make Patrick laugh, like sing and rap Nicki Minaj loud and off-key or bump into Patrick only to fall to the floor in mock agony.

It was really distracting.

Patrick figured jerking off in the shower would keep him occupied as long as Pete continued to be hot and gross.

But the distractions didn’t stop there.

Patrick had been checking up on the news and weather for the day, sitting up on Pete’s bed while Pete was changing in the bathroom, when he saw the headlines. 

“ _Fuck_.” Patrick buried his head in his hands, running his hands through his hair and moaning.  
Plastered on the headline of People magazine next to an article about a new type of electric guitar pedals was Patrick’s fucking face. It was grainy and kind of blurred, but it was Patrick.

In big, bold letters read: **Wentz’s New Boy Toy? See More Inside!**

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Patrick heaved, knowing that he wouldn’t have the willpower to _not_ click on it.

Patrick wanted to die. What had he expected? Pete was still a rock star, even if he wasn’t proactively acting like one, of course the paparazzi were still going to get any type of dirt they could find.

They had pictures of Patrick from the shitty shows he played and pictures of him on Pete’s porch and talked like Pete like was some cradle robber just because he was five years older. Patrick was twenty four fucking years old, he figured people would think he could make choices for himself, even if he wasn’t in a relationship with Pete.

Not that he would object.

Pete came out of the bathroom, hair wet and poofy, only dressed in flannel pajama pants with little skulls all over it. Pete was so predictable. It was cute.

The only part that wasn’t cute was how appealing Pete’s tan skin was, along with the circle of tattooed thorns that wrapped their way around his neck. Patrick thought they would feel really nice underneath his tongue.

“What’s your deal?”

The laptop landed on the foot of the bed with an ungraceful thump.

“That’s my deal.”

Pete leaned over and narrowed his eyes before scrunching up his face and smiling.

“Does that really bother you? They could have said a lot worse, you know.”

Patrick huffed and scooted forward to retrieve the laptop and set it back on his lap, continuing to scroll down the article.

“It’s an invasion of privacy. It’s exploitation. They said I dress like a grandpa and you’re too old for me.”

“Oh, gosh, _am_ I too old for you, Tricky?” Pete pouted, holding his hands up to his heart and pulling his eyebrows high up on his forehead. 

The urge to say yes was almost unbearable.

“You’re more than I bargained for, I’ll give you that.”

“Well, don’t worry about the paps, they have nothing better to do than peep on other people’s lives. At least you don’t have pictures of your dick on the internet.” Pete smiled and sifted through the shirts on his floor before picking up his favorite Metallica t-shirt.

“You have a point.”

“You’re lucky. I’ve been nice and haven’t posted any cute pictures of you on Instagram yet. Like when we were watching Order of The Phoenix and you drooled on me.”

“It was three in the morning. Not all of us are rockstars.” Patrick shot Pete a sly look with his tongue poking out of his mouth and continued to scan the article.

Pete made his way back into the bathroom; to straighten his hair, Patrick guessed. The chirp of Patrick’s phone caught his attention before he swiped it open.

‘u 2 fucked yet?’

Patrick sighed. Joe had such a way with words.

‘i’m not an animal, joe. he’s my friend.’

‘a friend u want to fuck tho’

Patrick couldn’t deny it. This was all Pete’s fault. Patrick could have continued to live his boring life working at a coffee shop and living with his dumb but oh-so lovable roommate playing his dumb acoustic songs and never leaving Chicago, but then Pete fucking Wentz happened. Pete Wentz had to come into his life and make out with him and then befriend him, and then make him live with him. All in the wrong order, but Patrick wouldn’t complain.

It did make him think though. He’d have to talk to Pete about it at some point, because all this waiting and awkward questions and weird kisses on his neck and slaps on his ass floating around in his head had made Patrick uneasy. Patrick couldn’t tell if Pete was actually flirting with him or Patrick just thought he was, and he didn’t want to assume he was and just go for it.

He figured facing the issue head on would be the best solution, and get it over with faster. 

Patrick wished Pete wasn’t detoxing, because a shot of liquid courage would do him a lot of good right about now, and smooth talking was not Patrick’s forte. So once Pete came back into the bedroom he couldn’t really help but blurt out: “You remember that one night, when, we like, dry humped each other?”

“Spectacularly well, if I’m honest.” Pete replied without a skipping a beat, flopping down onto the bed next to Patrick and grabbed his phone from the table beside the bed.

The nonchalant tone of Pete’s voice threw Patrick for a loop and it took him a second to think of a response.  
“Well, I mean, did it mean anything?”

“If you want it to mean something, I guess it did.” Eyes still stuck to his phone, Pete shrugged.

“Okay, don’t give me that bullshit, tell me.” 

“Well, I don’t know. You’ve been nothing but good to me and you’re really hot, despite what you think and you’re cute and I don’t know, I wanted to kiss you and I did. I just needed something to loosen me up so I could, you know?”

“Well, yeah. I get that. But like, you fuck people all the time, why am I different?”

“I don’t know. Cause you weren’t into me for my money or anything. You didn’t even like me at first. I had to actually like, work for you, you know? You didn’t just fall into my lap or anything. And I guess I admire that.”

“Oh,” Patrick stalled. His eyes decided on staring down at his feet. “Thanks, I guess.”

Pete started to bite the inside of his mouth. “Yeah.”

This was definitely not awkward. Pete couldn’t let this be awkward. This is what he _worked for_ , god damn it. His eyes wandered around the room, not sure what to say or do. The chipping paint in the cracks of the walls and chewing at his thumbnail weren’t helping him.

“So like,” He mumbled, pulling his thumb away from his mouth. “We still cool?”

Meeting Patrick’s eyes weren’t as bad as Pete thought it would be.

Patrick shook his head, smiling. “I mean, like, yeah?”

“So,” Pete shifted on the bed and set his hand on Patrick’s knee, “that’s okay?”

Patrick raised his eyebrow and watched Pete, his mouth scrunched up in confusion. “Yeah?”

Pete’s hand crept up to Patrick’s thigh and he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Are you in the 10th grade? Just fucking make out with me already.” Patrick swatted at Pete’s hand and scoffed at him.

“You serious?”

“No, let’s just fucking tiptoe around each other for another two months and see where this heads. Of _course_ I’m serious, you idiot.”

The look on Pete’s face was more than enough to voice his confusion. 

“Jesus Christ, just-” Patrick snagged the collar of Pete’s shirt and him towards him to smash their mouths together. It was just as awkward as it sounded, but Patrick tried to make it work. It took a few moments before Patrick could feel the tension in Pete’s posture to melt away and he began to kiss back. It was a little awkward. Pete was leaning over too far and it was putting a strain on his back and Patrick balanced on one hip, keeping steady with the hand in Pete’s gross Metalica shirt and their cheeks pressed each other.

It felt like a godsend once Pete finally moved his hands to either side of Patrick and crawled on top of him. Patrick could feel Pete, half hard against his hip and heavy on top of him, kisses becoming more urgent and heated and Patrick never wanted it to stop. This might be the best makeout session he’d ever had the pleasure to be involved in, but Patrick would never tell Pete that.

As things escalated, Patrick wasn’t exactly sure what Pete wanted, but things became pretty clear they got their teeth involved.

Pete fucked his mouth with his tongue like his life depended on it. It was quick and forceful and sloppy but Patrick _melted_ against it. He snarled against Pete’s lip and bit at it, feeling like this was a game played over who got to be more dominant. It felt so primal and so natural and Patrick ate it up, meeting Pete’s aggression and energy with just as much enthusiasm. Patrick had learned to grow a tough side for when he got pushed around at shows or clubs so he knew how to act dominant underneath his soft demeanor. People always underestimated him because of his size and general appearance, but Patrick knew how to swing his fists around if he had to. It all felt liberating to Patrick, if he was honest. Getting to let some pent up aggression out but knowing he was in a safe environment; like being in the pit with Joe at big shows. 

Pete almost seemed surprised when his lips were met with teeth but he bit right back, sucking against Patrick’s tongue and letting their teeth clack together. Patrick knew he wasn’t the only person Pete had been a little more than aggressive with.

Pete opened his dilated eyes and flicked his tongue over his smirk. Patrick couldn’t help himself from wrapping his fingers around Pete’s jaw and growling against his lips. Patrick could almost see Pete’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Where’d you learn that?” Pete hummed, drunk off kisses and a giant smile revealing the teeth Patrick had just been sparring with.

“I’m self-taught.” Patrick smirked and dragged his thumb over Pete’s swollen lower lip, Pete’s tongue meeting it halfway. He felt Pete’s hips wiggle and twitch like an overactive puppy, hipbones bumping against Patrick’s unevenly. Patrick gripped Pete’s shaking hip and steadied it against his, locking eyes.

“Excited?” Patrick purred, letting his thumb wander down Pete’s chin and tracing his jugular.

The reverberation in Patrick’s voice hit Pete straight in the dick and he started to feel dizzy.

“Excited, nervous, _really_ horny, take your pick.” Pete sighed, starting a slow grind between Patrick’s legs.

Patrick grunted and stretched his legs out along the bed. His skin felt hot and alive when he gripped Pete’s neck and pulled him down for another kiss, just as hard and callous as the first.

Pete moaned into Patrick’s mouth and pressed him down against the mattress, pinning them together from mouth to hip. The feeling of Patrick’s hand around his neck and the slightest fight he had to give to breathe made him feel so much more sensitive. His nerves were responsive to everything he could feel and taste and hear; all the little moans and gasps Patrick would make, the dry burn of their clothed dicks rubbing against each other, and Patrick’s mouth, god Patrick’s _mouth_ , lips soft and wet contrasted by his teeth and urging tongue.

“You’re gorgeous.” Patrick breathed against Pete’s mouth, hand moving up to tangle in his hair and pull his head up, leaving his neck exposed. Pete’s heart fluttered at the compliment, feeding into his ego that had been so damaged over the years. Patrick wasted no time making a mess of the tanned skin in front of him. He kept his other hand occupied by sneaking it under Pete’s shirt and raking his nails against his ribs, earning him a whimper and a thrust from Pete’s hips.

“I want you, god, Pete, _fuck me_.” Patrick muttered between kisses and bites, finally pulling back to meet Pete’s eyes.

“Yes, _please_.” Pete groaned, deep and breathless, his eyebrows pulling up in dreamy disbelief. 

That was a good sign, a really fucking good sign. 

Patrick felt his chest puff up with smugness and excitement and _fuck_ , thinking of Pete down on his knees for him, begging to fuck him and doing anything he was told to get rewarded. Patrick had to close his eyes and try to bring himself back to reality before taking in the situation he was in. He knew Pete had had rough sex, for some reason they’d had an in depth conversation about it after watching Return of the King, but he didn’t know of what nature and he had to think about consent and making sure Pete wouldn’t have a panic attack or feel uncomfortable. Patrick had barely scratched the surface of Pete’s sex life and he didn’t want to scare him off. Patrick’s dick and heart really didn’t want him to leave right now.

Patrick took a deep breath and looked Pete straight in his eyes. “If I do anything you don’t want me to just tell me to stop and I will, okay?”

Pete appreciated the formalities, he _really_ did. It was refreshing to have someone actually have some regard for his mental state during sex for once, and considering he wasn’t high, he wasn’t sure how he would react himself.

“Patrick, I don’t want you to stop. I wanna _fuck you_.”

His hand traced Patrick’s torso down to the inseam of his jeans, pressing the whole of his hand into the curve of Patrick’s erection. Patrick bucked up against his hand, tugging on Pete’s hair and pulling their mouths back together. Pete popped the button and pulled the zipper down agonizingly slow for Patrick’s taste, conveying his distaste by biting against Pete’s bottom lip and clawing against his scalp. Pete snarled and tugged Patrick’s jeans down to his knees, releasing Patrick’s mouth before pushing his t-shirt down and latching onto his collarbone, teeth sharp against bone. 

Patrick lifted his hips again, pressing his lips against Pete’s ear. “Okay, Pete, _fuck_.”

He pushed Pete back impatiently, grabbing his own shirt at the hem and pulled it over his head. Pete had to take a few seconds to rake his eyes over Patrick’s body. His skin was fair but not pale, freckles scattered along his shoulders and chest. There were pink and white stretch marks along his hips, stomach, and peeking out over his thighs like tiny lightning bolts that accented his skin. He saw Patrick’s face turn a shade of red when he followed Pete’s line of sight. Patrick had gotten himself so wrapped up and turned on that he’d forgotten about them. It wasn’t that he felt ashamed of them or anything, he just didn’t let many people see them. They were a reminder of his past that he didn’t like to think of that much. He didn’t hate them, but he didn’t race to show them off either.

“Yeah, uh, those are old. I just, um…” Patrick moved to prop himself up on his elbows, looked down at his chest shyly and tried to straighten his glasses.

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” Pete smiled, dipping his head down to paint Patrick’s chest in pinks, purples and reds with his eager teeth and tongue. Patrick fell back, beaming and blushing even deeper, happy that Pete didn’t mind the noticeable marks on his lower half. If anything, he paid more attention to them.

Pete palmed Patrick’s dick while he covered his chest, stomach, hips and thighs with kisses and nips. He nosed Patrick’s cock over his blue briefs, which, first of all, were cute as fuck. They were baby blue with dark seems that had blotches of precome below the band that wrapped around Patrick’s hips. Pete dragged his tongue over the fabric and let his bottom teeth follow.

Patrick gasped audibly and arched his back into Pete’s mouth. Pete shivered at the sound and his dick ached against his boxer briefs, rocking his hips against the bed in search for contact. Patrick’s voice was just as wonderful as it was when he was singing, but this felt better. This was intimate and dirty and it was all for Pete. The fact that Pete was the one that could make Patrick sound so overcome and desperate made it feel like Pete was in control, even though he would be on his knees for Patrick in an instant. Pete looked up at Patrick, tongue still resting on Patrick’s underwear before smiling up at him.

Patrick bit at his lips and let out a deep groan. “Just _blow me_ , Pete. _Jesus_.”

Pete smirked, turning his head to nuzzle up against Patrick’s thigh. 

“You’re so _impatient_.” He grinned before pressing a bruising bite into the meat of Patrick’s thigh, thumb sweeping over the head of Patrick’s dick.

Patrick’s face, red with frustration and fuck, he was so hard and all he really wanted right now was to get fucked. Who could blame him? He growled so deep in his chest Pete had to look up, eyes dilated and excited like a puppy presented with a treat.

“Are you going to be good or will I have to hurt you?” Patrick almost _glowed_ with something akin to anger, but not exactly. It was controlled, not a threat out of raw aggression, just a threat someone of complete authority would make. The mere thought gripped the attention of Pete’s dick and he all but melted.

That’s probably what Patrick meant when he said he would stop if Pete wanted. 

But dear fucking god, Pete didn’t want this to stop. Pete felt something primal and instinctive taking over his brain that immediately made him want to obey. This felt right, this felt natural and hot and Pete made a mental note to have Patrick threaten to hurt him more often.

“I wanna be good, ‘Trick.”

“You wanna fuck me?” A questioning smile highlighted Patrick’s face as he adjusted himself to spread his legs wider, reaching his hand down over Pete’s, pressing it against his firm cock. Pete wasn’t the only one who could play the teasing game.

Pete’s eyes locked on Patrick’s face in awe and anticipation, his dick feeling like it would burn a hole in his fucking boxers if it didn’t get any attention.

“You wanna be inside me, make me come?” Patrick rolled his hips upward and he moaned at the feeling of his and Pete’s hands dragging over his cock. He felt dirty and slutty but the look on Pete’s face was more than worth it.

Pete felt his gut clench and his mouth water at Patrick’s words and actions, looking so open and teasing and willing and he had the hottest smiled on his face and-

“ _Yes_ , yes, _please_.” Pete whined, edging against Patrick’s thighs, leaving dark hickeys in his wake.

Patrick loved this; the feeling of control and authority, making Pete do exactly what he wanted, playing with him as much as he could before letting Pete fuck him. 

“How bad do you want it?” Patrick bit his lip to hold back the gasp he would’ve let out when Pete’s mouth slid over his clothed cock.

“I want it so bad ‘Trick, _please_. I’m sorry just, please-” He pleaded, lips, teeth, and tongue still edging over the dick he wanted to suck so fucking bad but that he _couldn’t_.

“I don’t know…. You’re gonna have to prove it to me, sweetheart.” Patrick narrowed his eyes and smirked when Pete’s dark eyes met his, taking his thumbs and tucking them underneath the band of his briefs and sliding them down, revealing his cock, taught against his stomach and dark with blood.

Pete’s mouth salivated at the sight and his whole body _ached_.

Patrick’s cock was in this mouth before he had a chance to blink. Pete hooked a hand under Patrick’s thigh and pressed his nails against it, other hand at the base of Patrick’s cock. It’d been a long ass time since Pete had sucked someone off, at least that he could remember, but wasn’t hard to get back in the swing of it. He started off hesitantly, slowly jerking Patrick off with his hand and tonguing at the head of his dick before he could gather the courage to swallow him completely. 

“Fuck, Pete.” Patrick moaned, fingers in Pete’s hair again, this time his grip was soft and gentle, raking his fingernails against Pete’s scalp. Pete could feel his saliva pooling around his fist and on Patrick’s dick and Pete felt filthy and slutty and fucking alive. 

Pete whined and hummed against Patrick’s dick, earning a hard thrust in his mouth and a throaty moan from Patrick that Pete tried not to choke on. He swirled his tongue up and down Patrick’s length, hand following his mouth again and again before pulling off completely to bite against Patrick’s hips and jerk him off, getting Patrick to grind up against his touch.

“You’re so good, Pete, _god_.”

Pete looked up at Patrick, tears welling in the corners of his eyes and drool sliding down his chin. He took this moment to bite the shit out of Patrick’s hipbones and wrap a hand around his own dick, sensitive and overstimulated from the way he was fucking the mattress beneath him.

Before he knew it Patrick’s hand was in his hair, gripping _hard_.

“ _Don’t_.”

Pete felt himself shudder and whine before he could even think of anything else.

The firm hold on his hair lessened and Patrick pulled Pete’s head up by his chin, some spit dripping down onto his hand from Pete’s mouth.

“You wanna be good?"

Pete licked his lips and nodded, “Yeah.”

“Then you don’t come unless I say so.”

When Pete’s brain finally caught up with him, he dragged Patrick’s pants and underwear off to the end of the bed as quickly as he could. Patrick laughed and peeled Pete’s sweaty Metallica shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor before pulling him up by the scruff of his neck to clash their mouths together. 

“C’mon, Pete.” Patrick demanded, teeth still biting against Pete’s bottom lip and cradling the back of Pete’s head to hold him there. 

“Okay, okay, okay.” Pete breathed through his smiling teeth before pulling his mouth away from Patrick’s to roll over towards his bedside table, rummaging through the drawer before pulling out a tube of lube and setting a condom on the mattress next to Patrick.

“Want me to prep you?” Pete’s brain felt dizzy at his own words. He could almost feel the bottle shake in his hands and his pupils get wider as they met Patrick’s.

“Unless you want me bleeding all over your dick…” Patrick smirked and cocked his head to the side before leaning back against the pillows he’d arranged to prop himself up.

“Fuck you.” Pete grinned as he popped the cap open and coated his fingers with lube.

“Well, I was hoping that was the plan.”

Pete scrunched his nose at Patrick before rolled on the side and used his clean hand to pull them side to side, foreheads and noses touching.

“What are you doing?” Patrick raised a brow and let his hands wander to Pete’s hipbones, thumb pressing against the tattoo close by.

“I wanna watch you.”

If Patrick wasn’t horny as fuck before, he was even more so now.

Pete cradled the back of Patrick’s head and kept his eyes locked on his, his hand sliding down in-between Patrick’s legs. Once Pete found the right angle, he pushed a single finger inside Patrick, eating up the way his face contorted in and mix of pain and pleasure. Patrick’s breath hitched and let out a whine, opening his legs to make room for Pete’s arm. Pete worked his finger in and out slowly, paying more attention to the expressions on Patrick’s face than anything else.

Patrick’s eyebrows pulled up on his forehead, working his bottom lip between his teeth. Pete licked his lips and breathed against Patrick’s mouth before pressing a soft kiss against it. Patrick still sighed and moaned against Pete, fighting to stay composed as he added a second finger.

Patrick groaned, biting against Pete’s mouth and digging his nails into Pete’s bicep. Patrick had done this before, he’d done this with other people and by himself before a million times but this was _different_. Pete’s eyes were fucking shining and he was _so good_ with his hands. One holding and gently rubbing the crown of Patrick’s hair and the other fucking him with his fingers, bending at just the right angles at just the right times. Looking Pete in the eyes was so much more intimate that Patrick expected, but it felt weirdly safe. Pete’s eyes were sincere and bright like stupid fucking Christmas lights if Christmas lights were brown but that was all Patrick could think of in his momentary lapse of coherent thought.

“You want another?”

“ _Yes_.” Patrick dragged his fingers against Pete’s dark arm and left streaks of white and red though his tattoos.

Patrick felt the burn of being stretched and groaned his way through it before he was rewarded with a slight bend of Pete’s fingers.

“ _Fuck_.” Patrick almost choked on his words, a hand moving around Pete’s waist to scratch and grip against his back, setting off little white sparks behind Pete’s eyes. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me right now, please, _God_ , I-” Patrick snarled, arching his back against the fingers inside him and rocking his hips against Pete’s.

Fingers suddenly slipped out of him and he hissed, feeling a dull burn combined with the loss of the pleasant sensation they brought. Patrick wanted more and he wanted it now, biting at Pete’s neck and pulling his sweatpants down.

Pete laughed and wiggled out of his pajamas before getting up on his knees to roll a condom on. He squeezed a fair amount of lube on his dick before giving himself a few long and lazy strokes, smiling at Patrick with his tongue bit between his teeth.

“ _Pete_ ,” Patrick whined, gripping the sheets and shifting his hips impatiently.

Pete smiled as he settled himself in-between Patrick’s legs and leaned over to kiss him tenderly. Patrick moaned at the sudden contact and rutted up against Pete’s hip, hot skin grazing over each other.

Pete’s tongue made its way into Patrick’s mouth, one hand in Patrick’s hair and the other on his own cock. Pete pulled away for a second to watch himself line up with Patrick’s entrance before flicking his eyes back up as he rocked his hips forward.

A collective groan echoed through the room once their hips met and their breaths pressed into each other’s necks.

“Fuck,” Patrick hissed, one hand gripping Pete’s shoulder.

“You feel so good, ‘Trick.” Pete moaned, moving his hips forward and backwards slowly at first, eyes fixated on Patrick. His lips were pink and swollen from the bites and kisses and Pete couldn’t help himself from kissing him again.

“C’mon,” Patrick growled into the kiss, a hand covering the front of Pete’s neck. “ _Move_.”

Pete did as he was told. Albeit, slowly, but it was better than nothing.

Pete began with long, firm thrusts that made Patrick squirm and gasp, when he bottomed out, when he pulled all the way out and when he pressed back into him. As Pete’s rhythm increased, so did Patrick’s grip on his throat. Air would come in short supply, but Patrick always seemed to know what was too much and what was too little. He had Pete riding the line between discomfort and coming for what Pete felt like were hours of torture. Amazing, hot, wonderful torture. 

“You like that?” Pete could feel the fucking vibration in Patrick’s voice, hear the smirk on his mouth and his predatory eyes on him like he was going to be eaten alive. 

“You like it when I choke you?”

Pete tried to muster up an answer because, _fuck yeah_ he liked it. He could feel himself shake through his thrusts and had to fight to keep some air in his lungs, but he loved it.

That’s when air came.

Pete ate it up. He could feel his lungs scream at him but holy fuck, he could feel _everything_. Pete could feel Patrick, hand around his throat, soft stomach underneath his and thighs wrapped around his hips, the sound of their skin meeting with each thrust quiet in the background of their breaths, or lack thereof. He could taste Patrick in his mouth and smell his shampoo in Patrick’s hair and he was _his_.

As soon as the air hit his throat Pete couldn’t help but reply with, “ _Yesyesyesyesyesyes_ -”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. You’re so good, Pete, _so good_.” Patrick purred, thumb still pressed on Pete’s jugular like a trigger to a gun. Bruises were peeking out beneath Patrick’s pale fingers and he relished the thought of seeing them in the morning once they’d matured. Patrick had a feeling Pete would look good in red and purple. 

The blood that pulsed in Patrick’s veins was loud in his ears and radiated warmth throughout him, Pete hitting his prostate with perfect inconsistency.

He could feel his stomach heat up and his legs start to shake around Pete’s waist. 

“Pete,” Patrick swallowed against his dry tongue, “C’mere.”

Without hesitation, Pete pulled himself closer to Patrick, following the guiding pull of Patrick’s hand and pressed his mouth against his. The kiss was softer than Pete expected, Patrick’s mouth was gentle and slow against his, whining in tandem to Pete’s thrusts. Pete could feel Patrick’s hand move to settle underneath Pete’s stomach to jerk himself off, following Pete’s rhythm. He pulled away and locked eyes with Pete, whose eyes were threatening to overflow with tears. Patrick stuck out his lower lip and figured he’d made Pete wait long enough.

Patrick’s strokes increased in speed, never taking his eyes off of Pete and pressing gentle, sympathetic kisses against his lips and jaw.

“Fuck,” Patrick whined as he came, mouth wide and eyes shining. “Fuck, Pete, _fuck_.”

Patrick’s face, flushed pink and shiny with sweat, his tongue poking out over his lip was almost too much for Pete, but he couldn’t come, he wanted to be good, he wanted to be good so _bad_. Patrick smirked up at Pete, eyes wide and overcome and _begging_. 

Patrick fell back against the pillows and wiped a few stray tears from Pete’s eyes and cheeks with his free hand. Pete was shaking around him and inside him, orgasm waiting behind the breath Patrick was holding in his hand. Still feeling his orgasm flooding his body with warmth and shivers, Patrick let go of Pete’s throat.

“Come.”

The breath of air to Pete’s lungs kicked him straight in the chest and Patrick’s fucking voice, deep and assertive and _hot_ took the pooling heat in his stomach and made it boil. Pete’s jaw dropped and his eyes blurred for a second as he came, so deep inside Patrick that just the thought of it made his hips thrust again, earning a moan and smirk from Patrick. 

Pete’s brain flooded with endorphins and oxygen and _PatrickPatrickfuckfuckfuckParick_. His shoulders shook he could feel with insane clarity the beads of sweat on his back and forehead, trickling down his arms and thighs. Pete felt like he was high, his eyes felt wide and his mouth was dry, his whole body shuddering in the afterglow of his orgasm.

Patrick’s hand brushing against his cheek brought him back from the fog and helped him settle down onto Patrick’s come-covered torso.

“You okay there, buddy?” Patrick laughed, teeth showing through his bright smile and hair clinging to his forehead with sweat.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that?” Pete licked his lips and grinned with eyebrows high on his forehead in dream-like ecstasy.

Patrick chuckled and brushed Pete’s hair off of his brow. “I try.”

It was amazing how quickly Patrick could go from being the most authoritative powerbottm Pete had ever imagined back to his normal demeanor, snarky and comforting. He was probably used to it, getting into the right headspace and all that. Pete was so happy all that was wrapped up into one Patrick.

Pete pulled out and tied the condom off before tossing towards the garbage can, punching the air weakly as it landed in the trash.

“Kobe,” He whispered as fell next to Patrick and curled against him, wrapping an arm around his waist and nuzzling against his jaw.

“You’re stupid.” Patrick smiled lazily, pulling the comforter up around their shoulders and turning towards Pete to face him.

“But I’m your stupid.” Kisses were peppered along Patrick’s jaw and neck along with Pete’s giggles.

“Wow, grammar puns. I’m charmed.”

“Shut up, you love me.” Pete sighed and took Patrick’s hand.

“Yeah,” Patrick squeezed Pete’s hand before he looked back up into his eyes, shining back at Patrick while his cheeks tinted the slightest shade of pink.

“Maybe I do.”


End file.
